A/N: The long awaited sequel! From the moment I posted Lovely Tonight, I knew I wanted to continue it (just a few other story ideas got in the way). Unlike LT, this isn't a songfic but I am continuing with the concept of important nights in the lives of Sara and Grissom.
A/N2: Because I adore Joshua Radin (who sings LT) and his music, the title of this story comes from a song off his new album. Thanks to Emily (the talented clayfish32) for betaing this chapter.
Disclaimer: No, I do not own CSI. Yes, I do enjoy playing with the Bug Man & the Brown-eyed Beauty.
It began on a Sunday or, more specifically, a Sunday night.
She had been feeling a bit off kilter the previous week. Nothing major, nothing she could place her finger on at least.
She'd been in bed, taking a much-needed nap because she had been feeling rundown, when she woke suddenly and shot out of bed. Rushing to the bathroom, she barely managed to make it in time. She groaned out loud. She was getting sick and she hated being sick. Hated being weak, vulnerable. If her mind flashed to something else—another possibility—she forcefully shoved it aside.
As she was about to rise from the floor, another wave of nausea came quickly and again she emptied her stomach.
"Sara? Honey, are you okay?"
Gil.
Great. Just great. He would have to see her looking her absolute worst. She held up a few fingers in the air, indicating to him to give her another few seconds. Besides, she wasn't exactly sure how he expected her to answer when she was in the process of puking. This was the other reason she hated being unwell—it made her petulant. She would freely admit that she wouldn't be winning an award for patient of the year any time soon.
Exhausted, she used the remaining energy she had to lift her head and to start rising.
"Here, let me," he said, crouching behind her instantly, helping her stand. "Let me help, baby." He brushed the hair away from her face, feeling her clammy forehead, the flush of her cheeks.
Slowly he guided her to the sink, standing a couple of inches behind her in case her body decided to give in and collapse. While she brushed her teeth, he redid her hair in a messy ponytail.
Finished rinsing her mouth, she turned and leaned against the granite counter for support. "Thanks." She gave him a weak smile.
He reached for her hand to hold. "Do you feel better now?"
"Yeah, I think the worst is over. Still a little nauseated though."
He took a step closer, tracing the delicate curve of her cheek, letting his fingers trail lightly down her arm. His blue eyes locked on hers. "Sara, do you… do you think that—"
"Don't," she cut him off. "Don't say it, please." Don't hope, she wanted to tell him but couldn't force the words from her mouth. "It's probably a case of food poisoning or something," she said, sliding deftly between the counter and his body, heading back into their bedroom. "I'm tired," she murmured. So very tired of this…
As she walked away, he followed. "I'll get you some saltines," he said quietly, leaving the room without waiting to hear her response.
When he came back, she was already in bed, eyes shut. He sighed, crossing over to the nightstand to set down the crackers and the glass of 7-Up. Careful not to disturb her, he drew the covers up and placed a soft kiss on her forehead.
Though he wasn't tired, he got into bed beside her, shifting until his chest rested against her back. He placed an arm loosely around her and buried his face in the crook of her neck. Later, when weariness finally overcame him, he drifted to sleep with his hand resting lightly on her stomach.
--
Moaning, she forced herself to rise and walk to the sink, washing away the rancid taste from her mouth.
Her knees weakened and she slowly sank to the floor, lying down completely. She knew she would need to take another shower but couldn't seem to muster up an ounce of care. The cool tiles felt heavenly on her already heated body.
She groaned again when her stomach did another flip. Uh. Please, she silently begged her body, don't throw up again. Force it back. She was so physically drained that she realized she probably wouldn't be able to drag herself up and make it to the toilet in time, which meant she would end up covered in vomit. Not a very pleasant image, she thought as her stomach rolled once more.
She wanted crackers and a tall glass of 7-Up. And cool air, cool air was important. And Gil. She wanted Gil.
He would be back soon. He had left over an hour ago to take Bruno to the dog park before they needed to leave for work.
Lying on the floor, clutching her stomach, she thought back to the day she came home to Gil. She had been so blissfully happy, being with him and in his arms again. She lifted her left hand, smiled at the rings that adorned her fingers and marveled at how two little objects could come to mean so much to her.
She thought of her wedding night, the words she had spoken—said only in half-seriousness at the time—of "Gil? What do you say about trying to fill our empty rooms?"
And then to nearly a week later when they had been on the couch, Bruno lying at their feet, watching The Discovery Channel and cuddling, enjoying their new life together.
"Sara, did you mean it? What you said before?" he asked suddenly, turning to face her while he turned down the television's volume.
She gave him a small, puzzled smile. "Um, depends? What are you referring to specifically?"
"What you said on our wedding night about filling up our rooms?"
"Oh. That," she said before lapsing into silence. They had never really talked about kids before, about having them.
He stayed silent, waiting for her to answer.
"It's not something I ever saw for myself," she began. He took her hand in his, smiled at her in encouragement, and she continued, "But… somewhere along the way things changed. The answer is yes. I want to have a baby with you, Gil." She hesitated a moment before asking, "What about you? What do you think?"
"I think… I want that, too." His lips were curled in a grin as he leaned forward, crushing his lips to hers. Picking her up—with a loud squeal of surprise from her—he carried her to their bedroom. "Let's start a family."
That had been nearly ten months ago. Ten months of nothing but letdowns. Ten months of seeing disappointment marring Gil's face.
She remembered back to that first time. She'd been late, or would have been considered late if she had ever been regular.
Still, she hadn't been able to keep the anticipation, the excitement, and the hope from surging wildly through her veins. And, stupidly, she had mentioned it to Gil.
"You're late?" He repeated her statement, only making it into a question this time. His voice was controlled, his face careful not to display any emotion. His entire countenance would have revealed nothing to anyone who saw him in that moment, except she knew him and his eyes betrayed him. His eyes were flooded with hope and excitement.
"Yes," she answered. Trying to keep the happiness that kept threatening to bubble over out of her voice, she continued, wanting to be reasonable, "But… but it's not that unusual, you know, for me… let's not jump to any conclusions. Okay?"
He agreed. Outwardly, they went around keeping a calm, cool façade. It wasn't real though. Both, deep down, couldn't keep their minds off of the distinct possibility that she might very well be pregnant.
Two days passed, still no period.
"Why don't I go to the drugstore and pick up a test?" he suggested.
"Gil, I don't know…"
"Sara, we can pretend all we want that we're both not thinking you might be pregnant… but that would be a lie. We're scientists. Testing hypotheses is what we do, after all."
"You're right. You are." She sighed. "Okay. But I want to go with you."
They left their house with smiles on their faces, holding on to each other tightly.
Forty-five minutes later, when they returned home, they headed toward their bedroom. She dumped the two tests they had purchased onto their bed, reading the instructions, while Gil took a seat on the bed beside her.
"Okay," she said finally, standing and holding the pregnancy tests and their instructions in her hand. "I'm ready." She smiled at him, but he could tell she was nervous.
"Honey, don't worry," he told her, giving her a soft kiss on the lips. "I'll be right outside."
She nodded, walked into the bathroom, and closed the door.
The longest ten minutes of his life passed before Sara yelled, "Seriously?"
He got up immediately, unsure whether her exclamation meant good news or bad, and walked into the bathroom without bothering to knock. "Sara? Are you pregnant?" he asked, holding his breath, dying to hear her answer.
She was standing by the sink with both tests in her hands. He couldn't read the expression on her face. "I don't know," she said.
"You don't know?"
"It says two lines, TWO lines if you're pregnant. Two lines for yes. One line for no. It shouldn't be more complicated than that… right? Well, both tests show one and a half lines."
"Seriously?" It seemed like a suitable response.
"Yes, look!" she exclaimed, shoving the tests under his face for him to see.
"Well, okay. Okay… one and a half lines… that sounds good at least, right?"
"I don't know!" She threw the tests on the bathroom counter, frustrated. "God, the instructions are VERY specific. One line or two lines. The instructions don't say anything about ONE AND A HALF LINES!" Her voice had risen in volume, as hysteria came over her. She began to pace the length of their bathroom.
"Sara. Honey," he said and held out his arms to stop her mid-pace. "Don't stress yourself. Why don't you just call your doctor tomorrow and make an appointment?"
"Yeah, okay… I can do that. I'll call tomorrow." She sighed, wondering why she hadn't thought of that herself. "Thanks for calming me down." She smiled at him while her arms snaked around his neck. "I just want this so much," she whispered, resting her head against his shoulder.
"I know," he said, silently adding that he did as well. "Just remember, I love you. Always."
The next day, she opened the door, walked slowly out of the bathroom, and found Gil awake. Oh, God.
He had a grin on his face as he asked, "Want to call the doctor now or wait until after I make you breakfast?"
"No," she replied, more sharply than she had intended. Then added, softer, "There's… there's no need." Her voice began breaking as the tears came.
Without pause, he rose and wrapped his arms tightly around her. "It's okay. It's okay, honey," he murmured over and over, until her cries finally quieted. His shirt was soaked with her sorrow, and he had to hold back his own tears. Now wasn't the time for him to be emotional, she needed him to be strong. "It's still early… it's still early."
That had been almost eight months ago.
The months—the weeks, the days—passed by slowly. Torturously slow.
She wasn't sure she could handle any more upsetting news. She wasn't sure if she could bear to tell Gil no again. No, she couldn't possibly be pregnant; her menstrual cycle had just started.
And that smile of his—that smile she loved, the boyish grin he would aim at her causing her heart to do a funny little flip in her chest—that same smile he gave her and each and every time she had to wipe it off his face, dash his hopes. Dash their hopes.
It wasn't fair. It wasn't. She hated it. Absolutely hated it.
Tears pooled in her eyes and fell, one by one, on the bathroom tiles.
She wanted Gil to come back home already, to gather her up in his arms—those arms that made her feel so safe, so loved—and tell her everything would be all right. She could believe it if he told her.
She wanted to be pregnant, with his child.
Sometimes, right before she would wake up, she would be dreaming—wonderful, beautiful dreams. She saw Gil holding a little girl with brown eyes and herself, nursing a baby boy with blue, blue eyes so like his father's. She would look over at Gil and they would smile at each other, no words were ever necessary. The smile they shared said it all. The moment was perfect, always so tragically perfect. Then she would wake up. She always woke up and the pain in her heart was so deep, so piercing, sometimes she wasn't sure how she didn't die from it.
Lying on the cold floor in their master bathroom, her cheek pressed against the tiles, she let out a harsh laugh. It was ironic, wasn't it? She had told Gil that she'd never really considered having children and that had been true. It wasn't like she had this great childhood; it wasn't like she had any inkling of an idea how a good mother was supposed to act. She had nothing from her past in which to draw from. Long ago, she had decided that children just weren't in the cards for her—it wasn't the hand she was dealt in life. She was fine with it, completely one hundred percent fine with it.
Then she had met Gil. She hadn't thought falling in love was in her future either and had been wrong—so fantastically wrong—about that, so it almost made perfect sense she would also be wrong about not wanting children.
It had been nearly ten months… and nothing. Absolutely nothing. No new life growing inside of her.
God, it was so messed up. So unequivocally wrong. She had never wanted children. Never. And now she couldn't think of anything she wanted more.
A few months ago, she had told Gil that she was worried, worried maybe something was wrong with her and, medically, she couldn't have children. She'd mentioned she wasn't exactly young anymore; maybe it was too late for her. He had responded that she was wrong. If anything, if there was any reason as to why she wasn't getting pregnant, then it would lie with him. The conversation had ended with him agreeing to go see a specialist with her if they hadn't conceived by the New Year.
Still, she felt it was somehow her fault. Maybe she wasn't meant to have everything. Maybe Lachesis, long ago, had decided that her thread of happiness would be short.
It had happened before with Gil. She had never been happier, more content, in her life. They had moved in together, they were in love. Things had been great. Her life was great.
Then Natalie happened, the desert happened. Then the past, her past, had kept coming back; haunting her until she couldn't deal, couldn't handle it any more. She had left.
She returned again, later. Sure, so completely sure, that things were settled. Feeling like, for the first time in a long time, she would be okay.
It had been…
Another wave of nausea swept through her and she cried out. Knowing she was about to get sick again, she pushed herself wearily forward until she was crouching next to the toilet. Maybe she should seriously consider taking up permanent residence on the bathroom floor. She let out a weak laugh. All hail the god of porcelain, she thought before she emptied her stomach and paid tribute to it. Three times.
She shifted her body a couple of inches back, until she was leaning against the bathtub.
… nearly ten months. Months. Her mind froze on the single word, like a broken record, repeating it over and over: months, months, months. Her hand went to her mouth. How long had it been? Frantically, her brain searched for the information, the dates, she had tried so hard not to think about, had tried so hard to forget. After the last time, the last disappointment, she had thrown away her calendar and all the other calendars in the house. She didn't need or want the daily reminder of another month passing.
It had been how long ago… how long exactly? Gil had stopped asking, and she had stopped offering.
Then, like a flash of lightning, she remembered.
It had been October. The seventeenth of October, exactly two months after Gil's fifty-second birthday. Today was December eighth. She quickly calculated. She was never regular, that was true, but she had always been only a week, a week and a half at most, late. But three weeks? Never. Never had it been three weeks.
Could it be possible?
Unconsciously, her hand made its way to her stomach.
Hope began anew and it was a wonderful feeling. Happiness was in reach again.
When, moments later, she heard the door slam shut, Bruno barking, and Gil's subsequent command of "be quiet," she began to smile, feeling like she hadn't really smiled in such a long time.
There was the man she loved, the one she couldn't imagine living without.
When he found her, she was still smiling.
"Hi," she greeted him, about to say more when Bruno came barreling into the bathroom. Seeing his favorite playmate (and the one who fed him daily) on the floor, he immediately decided to share his happiness with her by swiping his tongue across half her face.
Laughing, she pushed his head away. "Gross, Bruno. Now I really need another shower." She tilted her head up, lifting her arms and waving her fingers back and forth in the air. "Mind helping me up?" she requested. He was standing, leaning against the door, and studying her intently.
"Of course." Immediately, he moved to her, let her place her smaller hands in his larger ones, and pulled her up until she was standing. "Are you all right? Were you sick again?" he questioned, concern reflecting in his eyes.
"Yeah, but I'm okay now. Promise." His hands still held hers and she gave them a quick, reassuring squeeze. Looking into his beautiful blue eyes and picturing a baby boy with matching eyes, she said, "I think I'm pregnant."
A/N3: I'm more nervous than usual to post this… so comments are greatly appreciated.